


Gifts for Another Holiday

by Mosca



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Martin Luther King Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/pseuds/Mosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Luther King Jr. Day Eve in the Stilinski house. The sheriff assumes Derek hasn't made plans for tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts for Another Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> May contain the following: discussion of canon character death, white people celebrating Martin Luther King Jr. Day in a nonstandard but respectful way, slash that is important to the story even though Derek and Stiles don't actually interact.
> 
> Shaughraun beta read this. 
> 
> Sheriff Stilinski's first name is John in this story, per fanon, although Shaughraun thinks it should be Shazam.
> 
> Based on a Tumblr prompt from [Sandyk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/pseuds/sandyk), who asked for any Teen Wolf and "a family affair."

John had just finished hiding Stiles's gifts for The Glorious Festival of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He'd brought in the usual haul of silly junk: the traditional wall-crawling octopus and Play-Doh, a light saber toothbrush, bacon-flavored toothpicks, a hideous ceramic panda wearing an "I Love Bamboo" t-shirt. John expected he'd get another Slinky and Best Dad Ever mug to add to his collection. In other families – families with a sense of humor, at least – they'd be stocking stuffers, but the Stilinskis waited until the end of January, hid the gifts around the house, and taunted each other until all the gifts had been found.

He and Stiles had renamed the holiday after Claudia had died, following a Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's that had crawled by like a hangover nightmare. John had needed one winter holiday that other people couldn't ruin by saying, "This must be so hard for you without your wife." He'd also needed a full day's worth of activities for a grieving, improperly medicated second-grader with ADHD who'd had the day off school.

In addition to the all-day, trash-talking scavenger hunt, the Glorious Festival involved pancakes; the ritual rereading of a frayed, stained picture book biography of Martin Luther King; periodic YouTube viewing of the "I Have a Dream" speech; more pancakes; a screening of _Coming to America_ interrupted by a guilty discussion of how next year they should really watch a movie more relevant to the struggle for civil rights, except they both loved _Coming to America_ and the whole point of a day off of school was that nobody was grading you for doing it wrong; and even more pancakes. 

With Stiles at the supermarket buying out their entire supply of Bisquick, John made the phone call he'd been rehearsing since November. He half-expected the number he'd found in Stiles's phone contacts to be a decoy against snooping dads, either a random fake or the Psychic Friends Network. He thoroughly expected Derek not to answer his phone, and he responded with startled silence when Derek said "Hello?" with the bemused surprise of someone too young to remember when a voice call was the primary purpose of a phone, or else someone who struggled to navigate basic human interactions.

"So," John said. "You and Stiles have been dating for a while now. Or whatever you call it." Stiles had never said "dating" or "boyfriend" or "gay," and he certainly hadn't said "sex," although John had inferred all of these things. As a dad, he'd learned to read between the lines of _Derek's lurking in the backyard again_ and _I have plans, not with Scott,_ the same way Stiles seemed to have read between the lines of pancakes and Play-Doh to understand _I miss your mom most in the winter._

"I'll leave him alone if you want me to," Derek replied, as if he'd been rehearsing this conversation for several months as well. 

"No, not at all," John said. "Somehow, my son seems to be getting into less trouble because of you. That's a sign that I should butt out."

"Oh." Clearly, Derek had not practiced this version of this conversation. John could imagine any number of reasons to reject him: not just homophobia and anti-werewolf bigotry, but the age difference, the troubled past, and the likelihood that, despite lack of prosecutable evidence, Derek was a dangerous felon. Derek had probably come up with a longer list. He couldn't have conceived of the possibility that none of it would matter.

"The two of us throw a little party for Martin Luther King Day," John said. "Sort of a family tradition. I thought it might be a nice time for you to join us."

"Most people don't actually mind being alone on Martin Luther King Day," Derek said.

"So be alone if you want," John snapped, then chastised himself for the negativity he was working so hard to rise above. Supportive parenting of odd children was difficult.

"Thanks," Derek said. "For the invitation. I – is there something I should bring? Gifts? Pancake syrup?"

"He told you about this."

"He tells me about a lot of things," Derek said. "He's chatty."

"When he wants to be," John said. But the revelation pleased him. As Stiles had grown older, John had become less certain that the Glorious Festival meant anything to him anymore. "I think Stiles has the syrup squared away. Gifts are optional. No single item over five dollars."

"I'm looking forward to it," Derek said, and despite its flatness, the pleasantry sounded strangely generous, like it came from somewhere deep in him. 

"We usually put the movie on around noon," John said. "Pancakes are served throughout the day."

"Noon," Derek echoed. 

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, John came up with a better idea. "Or you could come early and sit under the kitchen table with a bow on your head, so you can scare the crap out of my son," he said. "Just, you know, to shake things up with the gift-giving."

"That's going to backfire," Derek said, but there was a trace of laughter in his voice.

"I'm sure it will, but after all the heart attacks he's given me over the past... lifetime, I owe him one."

"Yeah," Derek said, "me too."

"I'll leave the back door open, then."

"Thanks," Derek said.

"Watch out for the screen door, though. It slams."

"No, I meant, thanks for including me." Derek's low, stoic voice wavered for a moment. "You didn't have to."

"It's a day for remembering why we have to be good to people," John said. "Isn't that the point?"

"That and racism," Derek said.

"Right. That too."

"Most people don't bother." Before John could ponder the depth of that statement, Derek added, "See you tomorrow," and hung up. 

It'd be an awkward Glorious Festival, possibly the awkwardest, although the one when John had tripped over his own Slinky on the stairs and chipped a tooth might hold that honor forever. But it wouldn't be a sad one, and year after year, that was always the point.

Stiles came thundering in. He set down his grocery bags to brandish a can of Play-Doh. "Find some new hiding places, Dad," he shouted.

"Put it back and pretend you didn't see it," John called back.

"All right, but I'm doing it for Reverend King, not for you," Stiles said. 

Out of the corner of his eye, John watched his son put away eggs and butter, bananas and chocolate chips. He read between the lines.


End file.
